


You Want It Darker

by Eureka234, Schattenriss



Series: I Was There When You Wanted Me Least [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Captivity, F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, One Shot, Other, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Self-Discovery, Skyhold, burn-out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss
Summary: When Raleigh Samson was captured, Inquisitor Kai Trevelyan didn't order him executed, though many thought he richly deserved it. Instead Kai tasked Cullen to take charge of the former General...





	1. Judgment

**Author's Note:**

> Filling a narrative gap, as once the Inquisitor conscripts Samson and assigns Cullen to be his handler, nothing more is heard about what happened after that.
> 
> Author notes:
> 
>  _Eureka234_ : Yay I am so excited to share this story. Schattenriss and I worked on this for a few months. It was a lot of fun to write. Thank you a million times to Schattenriss for collaborating with me. This is an alternate ending to my main Samson origin fic. I have left it very spoiler free so anyone can follow along :)
> 
>  _Schattenriss_ : Great fun to work with Eureka234 on this story, which grew out of a simple "what if" conversation. Many thanks to Eureka234 for being a great collaborator! This would fit into the 'Scenes From an Inquisition' section of my main series just before 'The Wrong Sort of Whatever', but I've left it as a stand alone since it's as much a slice of Samson's life as it is part of Kai's story (and is in third person!), and can be read as such.

“The Inquisitor is ready. Time for your trial, Samson.”

He groaned but did not argue. Fine. Let it be over and done with.

He couldn’t decide if Herald or Inquisitor was worse. Herald sounded self-righteous and superstitious. Inquisitor was arrogant and show-offy.

The Inquisitor of Andraste. Now, that didn’t make sense and was the worst of the lot. Samson grinned slightly as he followed the pull of the chains, not knowing where he was going precisely. The less he complained, the more he could pretend to be dead and maybe sleep if he was lucky.

The light hurt. Blight take it, everything hurt. Where it started and ended was a mystery.

When he heard Cullen’s voice, he thought he was dreaming. He hadn’t actually woken up at all. This was a dream within a dream brought on by all his anxiety and withdrawal.

Cullen couldn’t be here. Cullen didn’t care anymore. Cullen had given up on him.

Voices from spectators around him abated as the trial began. 

Curious, the miscreant opened his eyes. The hall, the high mosaic windows, ceiling torches and furniture arrangement was was clean and symmetrical, with no sign of the soot all the candles and torches must generate over time. Effigies of Andraste were lined neatly along long tables on either side of him. On the contrary to being pleasant, it mimicked the spectral atmosphere of the Kirkwall Chantry, an invitation to death. Inquisition followers who were crowded around created distorted, dancing shadows on the walls. It had more resemblance to a cult than the one he had just been forcibly removed from.

At the end of the hall was a series of low, shallow steps leading in three, three-step stages up to a dais dominated by a throne that was no doubt constructed to impress and intimidate the poor sods dragged in front of it. The throne was tall, some sort of symbol he didn’t recognize rising above the uncomfortable-looking seat. It was wide, with three snaky dragons emerging from each side. They had green eyes, but weren’t very threatening, looking off to the sides of the room as they were. It was all wasted on Samson, who’d had far more frightening hallucinations.

And who should he see standing up there  — looking like he blamed Samson for the stick he’d had inserted in his sanctimonious ass — but Cullen. He was already talking as the guards dragged the Red Templar General to a spot at the bottom of the dais. 

The first words he heard his old roommate saying were, “The blood on his hands cannot be measured.”

 _What blood?_ Samson thought, sardonic. Metaphor or not, it didn’t make sense.  _There’s no blood, not even a drop._

Feeling newly reproachful towards Cullen, he studied the man who was to judge him.

This was the first time he’d seen the Inquisitor up close. Yeah, he’d seen him at the Well of Sorrows, but everyone had been all armored up and grubby and no matter how he tried (not that he really had), he couldn’t remember what any of the Inquisition people looked like.

Samson knew his name was Kai Trev-something and he was a mage. That had surprised him when he first found out. Not only that he was a mage, but that the Chantry sisters that had started this whole Inquisition would admit a mage was Andraste’s herald. For some reason, they must not’ve had a choice.

The Inquisitor was a bald bastard, dressed all in black. Not as tall as you’d expect, and he had a dead look in his eyes, an exhaustion that was all too familiar. It was almost like…the man looked bored with the proceedings.

When the Inquisitor talked it echoed so much it hurt.

_Fucking shut up._

For what it was worth, he said his piece. Cullen wasn’t going to get to make up any damn thing he wanted. “I don’t suppose you are aiming to be impartial with this, Inquisitor?”

“What do you expect me to be impartial about? I’ve seen what you’ve done with my own eyes,” the Inquisitor said. “If there are extenuating circumstances, they’d have to be pretty bloody remarkable.”

“You joined forces with a thing that was willing to kill endlessly to achieve its goals,” Cullen said.

“What, like that’s any different to before?” Samson sneered at the Commander. “Templars have always been used. And when something gets used for long enough, it inevitably rots and has its mind burned away, like a useless doll, waiting to be thrown into a pyre.  You sit there, smug, blinded to what damage has been done, not thinking of the men and women who joined me, about what they were fighting for.”

“You represent them, so what do you have to say in their place?” the mage asked.

“We fought for freedom, the same freedoms as you lot,” Samson spat.

“Through destruction of the _world_!” Cullen shouted. “That is _not_ the same. It is a disgrace that you compare yourself to the Inquisition’s cause.”

“Piss on it! I followed Corypheus so templars could at least die at their best!” He directed his next remarks to the black-clad mage on the throne. “Same lie as the Chantry. The Prophet just isn’t as pretty. You’re only taking the Chantry’s place. All this mess that you think you’ve stopped, it will start over again, you’ll see!”

There was more. A lot more. Cullen tried to make him feel guilty for Maddox’s death. For everyone who’d died in Corypheus’s fucking war. It didn’t work, because he felt no guilt. Of course not. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The Inquisition were the ones who had done wrong and their chaos would only continue.

“I was willing to be a pawn in Corypheus’s game, though, contrary to your assumptions, our goals never completely aligned,” Samson tried to explain. “He don’t like me. He never tried to like me. He don’t like blighted anybody. And now, I’m less than the pawn. Now that I’ve been chased off the board by a…” He raised a steady eyebrow at the Inquisitor. “…Bishop…”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow back, his expression unreadable.  

“…Corypheus would kill me on sight. Everything I care about is destroyed, so go ahead, take whatever is left. I don’t care.”

Finally everyone shut up, but only because it was time for his judgment. He figured everyone was hoping he’d lose his head, Cullen most of all.

Intense, dark grey eyes under black brows stared at him. Bloody typical. The mage probably hated him too.

And then he announced that he was conscripting the Red Templar General into the Inquisition and _Cullen_ would be playing babysitter to him.

The crowd seemed to hold its breath. Samson wondered if it was all a joke. Cullen would never agree to such a kind request, because he was a bastard. Watching over Samson required patience, a quality the Commander sorely lacked.

In the moments before the guards dragged him away, still in chains, Samson glanced at Cullen. He was glaring stony faced at the Inquisitor. The mage was staring back at him implacably. Cullen looked away first, and caught Samson’s gaze. Samson saw hatred in Cullen’s eyes. No. It was more than hatred. It was revulsion.

The crowd gathered in the great hall to watch the trial had broken out in an excited babble.

 _I can hear it now,_ Samson thought, imagining what they might say. ‘ _What are you doing, letting a cold blooded murderer walk where we walk and breathe our air_?’ _‘How could you be so foolish_?’

It appeared the Inquisitor’s decision would not be easily accepted. In Samson’s not-so-humble opinion, cold blooded murderer was a good criterion for a useful Inquisition member. If it wasn’t for the lyrium, he was a perfect candidate for their ranks.

Samson’s handlers stopped in their tracks. The Inquisitor and Cullen were standing directly in front of the door they needed to go through. The reprobate was close enough to hear they were arguing.

“What do you mean, saying I should take him?!” Cullen demanded, somehow managing to sound like he was hissing the words. “Do you have any _idea_ how much it took out of me to stand up there? And now you want me to do more?”

“Cullen, I’m not asking you to bloody marry the man,” the mage said. “You know him best. You’re the logical choice.”

“I am telling you I don’t like it.”

The Inquisitor snorted. “Shall I tell you how many things I’m required to do that _I_ don’t like?”

Cullen tried again. “Inquisitor. _Kai._ I mean…look at him. He’s a lyrium addict.”

“So were you. It’ll give you something to bond over.”

“But he…” The Commander made a noise that sounded like he stopped himself from cursing. “I hope you understand, our history has not been pleasant.”

“I gathered as much. Tell me, Cullen, what would you have me do with him?”

“Make him miserable. Put him in prison, or for Maker’s sake you could just kill him and save us all the trouble,” Cullen admonished.

“That’s not going to happen,” Kai snapped back. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t fucking execute people without a damn good reason.”

“You don’t consider what he’s done _good reason_?” Cullen was going an interesting shade of red.

“Frankly, no. I think he can be an asset. I expect you to help him become one.” Kai turned and started to walk away.

Cullen pursued him, and they moved out of Samson’s line of sight so he closed his eyes, but he could still hear them. The Commander said, “But I don’t _like_ him.”

“And I don’t like Mother Giselle, yet I _keep_ having to talk to her. Him I don’t know, so I’ll reserve judgment.”

“But—“

“Cullen. You are now cutting into the late lunch I have planned with Dorian. Take charge of Samson so the guards can go guard something else. I’m sure you’ll work something out that doesn’t involve bodily dismemberment. If you really want to, we’ll talk later.”

 _Dorian_ , Samson pondered on the conversation, _sounds like a bloke’s name._

One set of footsteps retreated while the other came closer.

_This fancy Inquisitor…could he be…the type to get cosy with men? The Chantry worshippers would titter and gossip day and night over that._

Mother Giselle sounded like a Chantry one at that. A crude image of the Inquisitor stealing a private moment (in hiding, of course) in a closet with another, partially naked, man came to mind. Samson couldn't help but find it amusing.

He felt a tug on the chains. 

What if it was true?

_A mage, and he's busy having a relationship with a lad when he's supposed to be running this blighted parade for Andraste? They're probably on the poor damned sod's back about the inappropriateness of it every chance they get._

Maybe it was all some secret, a big conspiracy. Intrigue flooded Samson. It could explain why the Inquisitor dressed in black, in an attempt to display his inner angst. Suddenly, he wanted to know more.

“You’re dismissed,” Cullen said, presumably to the guards.

More footsteps retreated. Samson kept his eyes closed.

“Are you awake?” Cullen asked, closer now. “Can you even hear me through that broken skull of yours?”

Samson ignored him.

“Fine. If you do not wish to discuss anything, follow me to my office.”

He did. The Commander’s office was rather grand and luminous in the firelight. Whilst it had enough space to create sleeping quarters for three people, and bookshelves so pristine it made the Gallows ones look deteriorated, he wasn’t about to offer compliments or behave like he appreciated the sight. The messenger that arrived to deliver Samson a bed roll and a wool blanket merely reminded him that he wasn’t _supposed_ to be feeling comfortable here. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent ignoring Cullen and pretending to sleep on the floor next to his new “handler’s” desk. Everywhere that Cullen wasn’t tainting with his presence was off limits, so the prisoner couldn’t see much point of sleeping anywhere else. He may have done too good a job at that, because Cullen quickly gave up talking to him. The rotten bastard.

_=#=_

“Inquisitor—“

“Kai.”

Cullen sighed. “Kai. He isn’t talking to me. He won’t even eat anything. I had to chase a rat away from his lunch.”

“What is it you want me to do? I’m not going to spoon feed him.”

“I was hoping you could talk to him.”

“What makes you think I’d have any more success than you?”

“He answered you at the trial.”

“So you think that means we established some sort of rapport?”

“More than I seem to have with him at any rate.” Frustration coloured the Commander’s words.

The Inquisitor — Kai — made a skeptical noise. Why was he not jumping for joy at the opportunity to interrogate Samson?

“Can you at least try?” Cullen pleaded.

Footsteps drew nearer, a differing pace to Cullen’s boots.

“Hello, Samson. Cullen here seems to think you may be dead. Are you?”

Samson shook his head.

“His head shook. That probably means he’s not, but in case it was just a random post-mortem tic…Samson, was that a no?”

Samson nodded.

“Well, there you have it. Definitely not dead. From the looks of it, he’s just ignoring you.”

“Ignoring me? It’s been almost two days. No one can be silent and immobile for that long.”

“You might be surprised,” Kai said drily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Given enough willpower, one should never underestimate the ability people possess to avoid interaction with others.”

Samson hated the Inquisitor slightly less in that moment.

“Fine, avoiding other people is one thing, but not to the point of avoiding eating and drinking.”

“You’ve a point there.”

 _Yeah, right at the top of that blonde head,_ Samson thought.

“If he’s going to insist on sulking that badly, we may have to do something he doesn’t like. A human can only go about three days without water, so you’ve got until tomorrow to get him to stop this of his own volition.”

“What am I supposed to do? Force him to eat? If he wants to be dead so badly, maybe we should just let him,” Cullen said sourly.

Kai sighed. “Must you do that every time? Look, I know he’s being a pain in the arse. He’s also too valuable to lose. You two were friends once. Even if you hate one another, you do share some common ground.”

“Not anymore, we don’t,” Cullen groused.

Kai muttered, _“Venhedis”_ under his breath then said, “Frankly, Commander, I think you’re both behaving like spoiled brats at the moment. Like it or not, it’s your job to handle Samson. I don’t care how you sort this out, but deal with it.”

The next moment Samson felt a bolt of electricity hit him. The sensation was of mild intensity, sharp and piercing like a hundred needles. It was over as soon as it started but the prickle remained under his skin.

“And _you_ ,” Kai continued, “I suggest you stop playing this fucking game of yours soon. You do not want to force me to get involved. Right now I don’t particularly dislike you, but you’re starting to piss me off. And if you get any ideas about dying for real just to be spiteful, well, my amatus is a Necromancer, so he’ll just reanimate you and you can work for us regardless. Later, gentlemen.”

The door thudded shut. 

The dissonance of loud boots stormed past him and vibrated through his bed roll into the side of his head.  

With the electricity still lingering, a memory of being in the arms of his ally, Calpernia, in a tent, entered his mind. She liked to use electricity too, for another purpose. He recalled how her hips moved and her breasts gleamed with sweat, how she liked feeling his nails dig into her back and draw blood. She was a little thing, much shorter and smaller than he was, but Dead Maker she knew how to hurt him. Their dalliance had been well worth it, as short lived as it had been. Samson managed a small smile conjuring the picture. 

_As long as the Inquisitor doesn’t learn my limits for pain, I can still have fun here,_ he decided. 

“Too valuable indeed,” Cullen scoffed.

 _Venhedis,_ Calpernia also liked saying that word. _Venhedis. Amatus_ …what did that mean again?

It was strange that the Inquisitor, this Kai person, cursed in Vint…when he had wrecked Alexius’s plans to make Tevinter anew.

“I hope you’re listening, Samson, because this is getting ridiculous. You heard the Inquisitor.”

 _Kai_ , Samson mentally corrected.

“What do you want me to say?” Cullen demanded. “ ‘ _I’m sorry’_? Really, I have no idea why I should have to apologize. I only tried to help you, tried and tried again. If that’s why you hate me so vehemently, then I—I see your reaction as misguided, but I did my best.”

 _So did I,_ Samson thought. He wanted to hear more sadness than that, so he waited. Cullen’s suffering would amuse him greatly.

“Honestly, Samson, I don’t know why you’re still hostile towards me. The war is over. You’ve lost. There’s no _point_ in being like this anymore.”

 _There’s no point in doing anything,_ Samson corrected.

“I won’t speak at all around you if that’s what you want,” Cullen said, “but I would like to do so without hostility, if possible.”

The former Red Templar leader sighed. Even after all these years, the message didn’t seem to stick.

“I don’t want you to _try_ to help me,” Samson muttered. He opened his eyes, squinting because the light hurt. “I want you to talk to me as if I have no problems at all, like I’m any other person. _That_ will help me more than you getting all pissed off over things I can’t or just won’t change.”

Cullen was seated at his desk, just far enough away that Samson couldn’t be completely sure, but he looked shocked.

“You’re the one who told me to stop worrying about you. I did, though perhaps it didn’t work as well as you wanted, because I found that I just got angry at you instead.”

Samson laughed. “Someone’s angry at me. What news!”

“Shut up,” Cullen snarled. “What’s worse is you don’t even take people’s irritated reactions seriously anymore.”

“Why should I?” Samson asked. “It’s not like it makes any difference. People think I’m scum no matter what, and now that’ll be the case forever.”

“What I don’t understand most of all,” Cullen mused, “is why you joined Corypheus if you knew it would make the world turn on you. Now, I’ve heard enough from the Inquisitor about your motives, and I’ll admit it’s confusing, but I’ve gotten used to your confusing behaviour. You used to care about the opinions of others, I’ll wager.”

Samson sighed. “Actually, I don’t care that the ‘world’ turns on me. Who is ‘the world’? A horde of ignorant shits. Only those who can see my point of view seem worthy of caring about.”

“Do you mean your Red Templars?” Cullen asked. “They’re all a bunch of monsters. If that’s whom you considered ‘worthy’ of company that is frightful indeed.”

“They became monsters of their own choice,” Samson said. “That’s not my problem. I only told them the choice was available if they wanted to join my cause.”

“YOU KILLED INNOCENT PEOPLE!” Cullen shouted. “Not just a few or a handful, but hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

Samson waited for Cullen’s breathing to return to normal before responding. “So did you. You killed my men and women for your cause.”

Cullen growled and ignored Samson for a few moments. “If I am interpreting correctly, according to you, we’re both as bad as each other.”

“Well, aren’t we?” Samson said. “We created armies. They are there to pull great men and women to the mud, wounds and all. Trying to discuss matters the natural, sane way didn’t go according to plan.”

 _“Because_ your logic, contrary to what you believe, makes no logical sense at all,” Cullen snapped. “There is no way to use logic against you, because you are so lacking in any common sense.”

Samson snickered. “What, because I talk to the red lyrium? From what I hear, others hear the red talk to them too. The Inquisitor had a bunch of visions too, heard voices from a bloody Well. Now, if you want to call me a fool for following disembodied voices, go ahead and call your leader infected by the same disease.”

“If you want me to do that — just to prove you wrong in how supposedly logical your thinking is — I will!” Cullen jumped to his feet to storm out of the room.

“Yeah, I would like it,” Samson agreed with a gaunt grin.

“Why do I even talk to you,” Cullen yelled at nothing in particular as he opened the door.

“Look at that. Same old rubbish from you, Commander,” Samson murmured. He curled up in a ball and pretended to choke.

“Stop that,” Cullen barked, turning back to him. “You’ve practically starved yourself to death. You’re not thinking rationally.”

“ _Help!_ I’M BEING OPPRESSED!” Samson bellowed, mocking a look of sadness. “I’M BEING VERBALLY ASSAULTED!”

“NO, YOU ARE NOT,” Cullen roared back. “YOU ARE BEING AN IDIOT.”

He left.

_=#=_

Hours later, Samson heard the clatter of cutlery and opened his eyes. Cullen had placed a plate of food, a napkin and a spoon in front of him. Judging by how the doors of Cullen’s office had shadows creeping from underneath them instead of a blinding whiteness, it must be night. 

“I’m sorry about this,” Cullen said, stiffly, half kneeling so they were eye level. “The kitchens wanted to give you a knife and fork, though I suspected you were probably going to try mutilate yourself with them.”

“Not necessarily,” Samson said. “Only if I had a point to prove.”

“Exactly,” Cullen said, with a grim smile. “I know you have plenty of those to make, so you will have to do what you can with a spoon.”

Samson picked the spoon up, bent it and handed it back to Cullen. “Can I get a new one, please? I broke it.”

“Sorry. This is your special spoon,” Cullen said, calmly, “There’s no more.”

“What’s special about it?”

“It now has your germs on it,” Cullen replied. “If spread, your germs are probably capable of annihilating the entire Inquisition.”

“Get better cleaners then,” Samson said, then more bitterly, “I’m sorry I’m so infectious.”

“All in all, a bout of a sickness will get me out of all the reports I have to write for a little while,” Cullen said. “Now I’d eat this before it gets cold.”

He moved to his desk.

Samson scowled. He considered breaking the plate. That would annoy Cullen. It didn’t seem worth it, since Cullen was now playing along with his game. It wasn’t as fun that way. On the contrary, he only became reminded of how absolutely terrible he felt, like a corpse physically, and empty emotionally. “Did you talk to the Inquisitor?”

Cullen’s hand holding the quill twitched. “No. He was busy.”

Something about the tone didn’t seem right.

“What really happened?” Samson asked, “Come on. You have to tell me now.”

For a minute, Cullen focused on his writing, until finally, “He told me to go away.”

Samson chortled. “What got the Inquisitor so pale faced?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen said. “He doesn’t share his deepest thoughts and feelings with me.”

Samson smirked. “Funny, him being a mage. Unexpected, like.”

“Yes, very funny,” Cullen said shortly.

The former general stared as his new roommate tried to write more of his report, watched those gormless light brown eyes flick in his direction more than they were staying on the page.

"What?! What's that look for?" Cullen snapped

Samson let out an exaggerated sigh. "Nothing, Knight Captain. Unless your prejudices count for anything."

"No, they don't," Cullen replied haughtily. Then he turned away and blocked Samson from view.

"Does the Inquisitor know then?"

Cullen ignored him.

“Maybe I can talk to him,” Samson suggested.

“Why would Kai ever want to talk to you?”

_In case he also hates you, Cullen._

“DEAD MAKER, I DON’T KNOW,” Samson raised his voice and his sarcasm tenfold.

“He put you with me because he doesn’t have the resources to deal with you,” Cullen said.

“Nobody has the resources to ‘deal’ with me,” Samson said. “Just like all those messed over by the Chantry. Am I right?”

A pause. “A little,” Cullen admitted. “But that’s changing. That’s the whole point of the Inquisition.”

“Pff, your little parade can’t solve everything,” Samson muttered.

“You’re right,” Cullen said. “That is why we make it a bigger parade and get as many allies as possible.”

Languidly, Samson started to eat the meat provided by the cooks. Abandoning the spoon entirely, he ate it with his fingers. It was cold, but still tasted good. After two mouthfuls he asked, “Why are you allied with the Chantry, after all they did to me?”

“It is not the Chantry in and of itself which is the problem,” Cullen explained, “but some of the processes organized by those inside. We are only allied with selected members of the Chantry, depending on their usefulness.”

“They might turn on you, as they’re corrupted by their own selfish desires,” Samson said. “Ever think of that?”

“Yes, and we have managed those who have done that reasonably well,” Cullen replied, “as opposed to what you would do, which would — I don’t know — involve blowing them up.”

“I prefer to manipulate those I want to blow up,” Samson said with a small smile.

Cullen ignored that comment. People never seemed to know what to say when the prisoner openly admitted he manipulated others.

“Will I get an opportunity to meet your leader?” Samson continued, with an innocent air.

“That depends,” Cullen said, “If you eat and behave enough, I might be able to walk you around Skyhold while I do my work.”

“Like your pet,” Samson demanded with a pout.

“Yes, much like a pet, or a child,” Cullen said lightly. “Until you stop being so over the top, you will be guarded all the more. It is in your best interests to cooperate. The more you do, the less like a pet you will look.”

“There is NOTHING in my best interests,” Samson shouted. “I _have_ no best interest, there’s just other people’s interests and plots. I’m beyond recovery or help or anything. How do you think that feels?”

Cullen met Samson’s gaze, and looked stony and unreadable. “I can honestly say I have no idea.”

Samson was left thinking for a long time about what he wanted to do in this stupid fortress. Nothing seemed it would make things any better, especially since he was doomed to hallucinations and withdrawal pains. They were forcing him to have this existence filled with torture. The red lyrium would kill him, a nice death, though they were taking that away from him too.

As Samson went quiet, Cullen looked at him speculatively. Samson wasn’t sure if the Commander was interested or confused — on that handsomely chiselled face of his, the two expressions looked about the same.

The silence stretched out until Cullen rose from his desk. “I have a meeting,” he said shortly, and strode out the door, locking it behind him.


	2. Captive

Samson’s first motivation to explore the fortress and behave was to figure out if anyone else hated the Inquisition as much as he did. If they existed, he could make some friends, find some allies. That way, Skyhold wouldn’t be so terrible. By the looks of the interior so far Samson had already seen the most exciting parts of it. What a disappointment. The remains were small rooms that were identical and corridors with chunks of stone taken out of the walls. 

Cullen pulled Samson along like a pet, with chains around his arms. So he acted like one. When he was irritated he pouted and did the big puppy eyed look. To get really in character, if Samson saw anything shiny or small that he liked the look of, he pulled on the chain and asked if he could go have a look at the exciting thing. The answer was always no. The act didn’t fool Cullen, but it fooled others who didn't know him. After a few hours and some complaints from passers-by, Samson was — very reluctantly — allowed to have one wrist free. All the things he could do with one hand!

When Cullen chatted to one of his messengers, Samson turned to a woman who looked like she was waiting to talk to the Commander. She could be a messenger too, judging by the helmet, the silver, the green. She looked young and her hair was cut short.

With his most non-threatening smile, Samson stepped towards her. “Good day to you, miss.”

The woman seemed receptive. “Good day, Samson.”

She knew his name. How flattering.

“How are you?” Samson asked.

“Very good, I have to say,” she said, “and yourself?”

 _You are a lying bitch_ , Samson thought. No one could enjoy this torture chamber.

He grinned and leaned closer to her, acting as if they were familiars. “Oh, you know.”

“What?”

He sighed. “I find it so hard to understand why I am being pulled around like this. They treat me like I am a fucking criminal or something.” He laughed.

The woman smiled briefly. “Perhaps you should listen more. Everybody else knows why you are in chains.”

 _She’s a clever one_ , he thought. _One who isn’t afraid of saying what she really thinks._

Breaking down this form of intellect was something he enjoyed, like a puzzle to solve.

“I guess it is my fault,” Samson lied. “I really do try to listen. I try and try, with my broken ears, and over the top of my own head making sound. But whenever Cullen here talks… it’s not words, not really. It’s just this obnoxious whinging, like another language. It doesn't make any sense. I hope you know what I am saying.”

The stranger did a half shrug, half nod, like she didn't want to answer.

“Whine whine whine, that's all Cullen does,” Samson said. “Maybe you can translate for me. Whenever the Inquisition people talk, it’s just this incoherent noise, like they’re all doing this.”

Without hesitation the miscreant took two fingers and slid them down his throat, as far as it could go, keeping eye contact with the stranger. He made a suggestive wet sound with his tongue and moved the fingers a few times before attempting to talk and gagging.

There, he had presented an idea, some bait, and merely had to figure out if she was a sad, enjoyable slut who would take the bait, or a clever, yet boring person who would depart.

The woman covered her mouth with a fist, as if holding in a sneeze, before stepping away from him.

 _You’re smiling, I know. You try to not laugh but I know the truth,_ he wanted to say, _I am hilarious._

“Samson, what in the Maker's name are you doing?”

“Sorry Cullen. I have trouble hearing your voice in this open space. You will have to repeat.”

Cullen ignored him and tugged on the chain. “Messenger Emily, you had an update?”

***

The Red Templar General remembered the first War Table meeting he attended more than the others, because after this the red had skewed his concentration and memory. And of course his blonde-headed handler had hauled them in here early. No doubt to show off for Inquisitor Cocksucker.

Cullen led him into an empty room, dominated by their so-called War Table. The table held a large map of Ferelden and Orlais. People had jammed what looked like anything pointy-ended that would stay stuck into various points of the map. It looked delightfully familiar. His tactician board for the Red Templars was a lot messier, mostly handwritten and smudged with ink and coffee stains, though it served its purpose.

Finally the Inquisitor strode in. He nodded to Cullen but didn’t speak, heading straight for the sideboard where servants had set containers of coffee and a tray of pastries. The Inquisitor — _Kai_ — ignored the pastries, pouring coffee into the largest mug on the table. He took a sip, frowned slightly, and concentrated for a moment. Steaming mug in hand, he carried it over to War Table and set it down. There was already a collection of rings from earlier mugs decorating southern Orlais.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” Cullen said.

“It’s morning. Whether it’s good remains to be seen,” Kai said, his tone just a hair away from outright sarcasm.

In spite of having already decided that today wasn’t going to be a good day, Samson empathized with Kai’s sentiments.

 _You don’t look so high and mighty now, right cock lover_? He thought.

“Samson, in case you have forgotten, this is the Inquisitor, Kai Trevelyan.”

“I don’t forget faces easily.”

Samson offered his hand to shake, but Kai said, “Thanks, but no.”

Retracting his hand, the prisoner couldn’t decide if he felt surprised by this or not.

Kai picked up his mug of coffee. “So Cullen says you’ve been behaving?”

“I try, Inquisitor.”

“Kai.”

They were almost identical in height. Samson may have been the slightest bit taller. It didn’t matter.

“Have _you_ been behaving, Kai?” Samson asked, “Did you remember to make your bed this morning, or did someone else in your quarters do it?”

Cullen tightened the grip on the chains and pulled them to the point of discomfort.

Samson ignored it. He wanted to know the Inquisitor’s filthy secrets.

Kai regarded him coldly. “Don’t be a smartass, Samson. It’s too damn early and smarmy, adolescent questions don’t impress me. Talk to me like a grownup and I may answer you.”  He turned away, leaning against the war table and drinking coffee.  
  
To his bewilderment, Samson found that he settled immediately. Kai hadn’t let his anger consume him, like Cullen seemed to so often, which was a refreshing change. Kai said he wouldn’t talk to Samson at all, that he would if Samson was reasonable. That was _fair_ , rather than deciding against talking to him indefinitely.

Cullen shot Samson a glare.

Moments later, the other members of the Inquisition’s core arrived. They were all women. Kai introduced them. Cassandra was a hard-looking woman with short, black hair and a scar on her face. “He looks worse up close than far away,” she said, grimly. 

“How thoughtful, Seeker. You look lovelier up close than far away,” Samson said, jovially, hoping the overt cheeriness would piss her off, “You looked like a man from a distance.” 

“Urg.”  
  
Samson smirked. Success. The Seeker bitch looked like he was a foul taste in her mouth she wanted to spit out. 

“Remind me again why we have not hung this… _person_?” she struggled to get the words out, like it hurt to admit that Samson was a member of the human race. 

Cullen was at a loss. “I...I know you may want to do so, but he has been more reasonable since I stopped reacting to his antics.” 

“How unfortunate. It is just like a follower of Corypheus to want reactions from his superiors,” Leliana, a redhead, japed. “He must feel insignificant and stupid.” 

Samson didn’t like the knowing look she gave him

The third, Morrigan, had black hair and strange, amber eyes. She gave Samson a look like he was a speck of dirt she’d been asked to notice.

Samson only cared for the fourth one. Josephine. Not only was she gorgeous in the face, body, and dress sense, but she also seemed incredibly nice.

“Good morning. It is…most fascinating to see you cooperating with the Commander,” she said carefully. She looked around. “Er, withstanding your commentary about Cassandra. Should I retrieve you a chair?”

“That is the nicest offer anyone has given me all morning,” Samson said.

Josephine looked a tad flustered. “I do not recall…I will perhaps ask…”

“He will survive standing, Josephine,” Cullen said. “He has done enough lounging about for all of us.”

“Very well. If you insist,” Josephine said, flattening out her skirt. ”He just…looks unwell.”

“I DO feel unwell,” Samson said. “Thank you for noticing.”

“We should get started,” the one named Leliana said. As the team crowded around the table and put on their concentrating faces Samson stepped closer to Josephine.

“I am so sorry for sounding bold. I have only just met you,” he said, “but you are charming, Josephine. Pretty, too. I hope you know that.”

“I…sometimes think I know it,” Josephine said, a tad awkwardly. “I thank you for the…uh, thoughtful, yet somewhat untimely reminder.”

“Anytime you get sick of these sods, I will be over here,” Samson said, making himself comfortable against a wall. Cullen caught Samson's gaze and rolled his eyes. Lady Josephine was looking at her clipboard.

“Right. If we’ve got the morning’s flirtation out of the way, perhaps we could get on with it?” Kai said drily.

Josephine flushed. “Of course, Inquisitor.” She looked at her clipboard again. “An agent for Lord Dufresne has contacted us with a complaint. He is alleging that we damaged his property when we passed through it on the way back from the Arbor Wilds.”

Kai sighed. “You mean a back lot he was unaware he owned got trod on too heavily? Find one of your beautifully diplomatic ways to tell him to go fuck himself. If he keeps whinging, send him a fruit basket and thank him for his support of the war effort. Any word about where Corypheus has taken himself off to?”

“He has gone to ground, but I would not count on him staying there,” Leliana said.

“In the meantime, we’ve had reports of Venatori activity in pockets here and here,” Cullen pointed at two areas in Orlais.

“There are also unsubstantiated reports of the presence of Red Templars still on the Storm Coast,” Cassandra added.

Kai glanced at Samson but didn’t bother asking him anything. Samson found himself getting interested in spite of himself.

While discussion proceeded, Samson resisted interjecting with comments like ‘Why by the void would you want to do that?’, ‘That’s stupid’, and ‘No’. He simply denied any of their good ideas, and instead shook his head when the talks went in a direction he didn't like. It was odd, really, because in adding this input he would be helping them, rather than letting them fail. He couldn't help it. As if an in built mechanism, being presented with tactics and strategy made him want to optimize plans.

The Inquisitor continued to watch him, but never spoke to Samson. Well, that was going to change. Pulling against the chain toward Kai after the meeting, he said, "Excuse me, Kai.”

The mage looked around, and maybe it was something about his expression, but Cullen put some slack on the chains, allowing Samson to move closer. “Let me guess. As the leader of the Inquisition, you have to drag yourself to another meeting now, right?"

"Actually, no,” Kai replied. “Did you want something?"

"I would like..." Samson thought about this for a second, "to ask you properly what I meant to say before. All boring and adult like this time."

Kai raised an eyebrow. "Boring and adult aren't always synonymous, you know, but go ahead. What _were_ you trying to ask?"

Samson avoided Kai's eye for a moment. "When my trial was over and I was about to leave the hall, after chatting to the Commander you said you were going to meet someone. The way you said it, it made me think the person was important." He pretended that he struggled to remember the name. "Dor... Dorian, I think? Was that the name?"

Kai said suspiciously, "Yes, that's his name. Why?"

"I understand that you probably don't want to say. After all, it is me you are talking to." Samson chuckled. "I am nosy and prying, but only like...what was the word? An adolescent. I like knowing for the sake of knowing. I would like to learn more about you, Kai, and I reckon those we spend the most time with can be telling. It reflects on our character. If you feel compelled to enlighten me, I would like to understand who Dorian is to you."

Kai shrugged. "I'm not sure you're personally interested in me, but it's not like it's classified information. He's my _amatus_. My partner and lover. Anything else you want to know? Not that it's guaranteed I'll answer you."

"There's never guarantee with answers. I would be a fool to assume as much," Samson agreed. "A lover now and again is nice. Having a partner is even better. They last a lot longer, if memory serves me right. Your partner is a he, then? I am surprised the Inquisition hasn't been taken down by Chantry worshippers. Is this something that many of the Inquisition followers know?"

Kai smiled faintly. "Yes, he's a he. The Chantry doesn't have any strictures against it, you know. And even if they did, I couldn't give a damn what the Chantry thinks. This isn't a Chantry operation. Considering I've made no secret of it, I'd be surprised if there were Inquisition followers that _didn't_ know, at least here in Skyhold. Why would you think the concern is that he's a man? The main thing that's got people's knickers in a twist is that he's Tevinter."

"I don't know which Chantries you have been to, but at least from what I have seen, Chantry types get all cruel for the most inconsequential shit," Samson said, "like Vints and all sorts. I mean I don't think Vints are bad. They're incredibly intelligent. Maybe too much. The magic they learn makes Southern books on the subject look like a shopping list."

"Believe me, I know just how fucking cruel Chantry types can be," Kai said darkly. "But they're far more concerned about magic than who you sleep with. Unless that person, like Dorian, also happens to be both Tevinter and a mage. But tell me, how would you know about the sort of magic they learn in Tevinter?"

Samson smiled. "I have met a Vint or two in my travels to nowhere."

Kai smiled back. "How cryptic of you. Is that all? Or are we supposed to continue this over drinks?"

"I’m told not to drink in my state, and I dunno whether you're being pretend polite or not." Samson's expression darkened for a second. "Though I appreciate you gave me some of your time. Cullen probably wants me to comb his hair or something."

He stepped away. "Enjoy your afternoon."

Kai looked at Samson speculatively as he walked away. _Strange man_. He gave a mental shrug and went the other direction. Dorian was usually in the library at this hour.


	3. Withdrawal / Acclimation

For all the effort it had taken, weaning him off the red had hardly made a difference. He had the shakes, was feverish, in pain, had waves of nausea and…hallucinations, which he hated most of all. The visual disturbances were different on the red than the blue. They formed in his environment. It made him feel like the end of time and existence itself was closing in. He often saw cracks appear in the ground beneath him and darkness swallow up half a room. Sometimes disembodied eyes peered at him from these shadows on the floor: pus-covered, bloodshot, bruised eyes, the windows to the souls of those he had killed. Sometimes they wept grey paste, other times blood. The voices of the lyrium were distracting too.

It was a bizarre enough sight that, after the initial panic, he realized that no one else in the War Room could see these things so they probably weren't there. Maybe he was getting haunted by those he killed. He didn't like the thought that they were still living somehow. The eyes would look at him whenever he watched for too long, so he avoided it wherever possible. It was creepy and the sticky smell of disease and blood made him feel even sicker. Try as he may to ignore it, the smell reminded him of the eyes, and he felt he was under constant surveillance, a feeling that persisted despite the Inquisition not paying him any attention.

At some point in the middle of the worst of his withdrawal, the Inquisition defeated Corypheus. Cullen seemed to think that might bother Samson, but it didn’t. Being off the red had turned his attention elsewhere.  Mostly, he tried not to collapse and had no choice but to absorb the compound around him. The Ambassador Josephine became a source of comfort when he was in the War Room, and even more so when withdrawal rapidly worsened. He sometimes smiled at her or gave her a small wave, if she happened to be peering in his direction, and she nodded in acknowledgement. She was his favourite person in the War Room. Everyone else, like Kai himself, Samson had little mental power to acknowledge.

Finally, he understood who Kai’s _amatus_ was. Dorian was a flashy, flamboyant Vint; another mage, like that was a surprise. They muttered to each other frequently, like the blighted love birds they were. 

"That’s him, is it? Maker, I do hope he’s had a shower.” 

"Yeah, I don’t think personal hygiene is high on his list of priorities.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Well. So long as he stays downwind. Don’t you have him rooming with Cullen?” 

Kai smiled faintly. “They’re old buddies. Roommates, from what I’ve heard.”

“What a charming picture that presents. So he became inured to it? Or perhaps he lacks olfactory senses?”

“That’s between them. As long as I can’t smell him when he’s in the war room, I suppose it’s up to him whether he bathes.”

“Do you suppose he does it to be obnoxious, or does he simply have no pride?”

“Well…he does have a distinct lack of pride, but he seems to enjoy being obnoxious too.” 

“Ah, so it’s a win-win for him.” 

“He does seem to like the attention. He’s pulling shite to ensure he needs surveillance,” Kai said. “The first few times we actually gave him privacy, he tried to crack his head open on the wall. And he harasses any woman he thinks he can get away with. Right now, Cullen is refusing to step in. Soon, I’m going to force him.”

“Do you really think he’s worth all this trouble?” 

Kai sighed. “Really? I’m beginning to have my doubts. Having him in the War Room worked — he chipped in despite himself when we were strategizing against Corypheus — but now that that’s over with…”

“Perhaps he’ll harass the wrong woman and get his head cracked open anyway,” Dorian suggested cheerfully.

Kai snort-laughed. “He’d probably enjoy it.” 

~~

Their closest friends were a mad elf girl, Sera, and an oversized, muscular slag of a Qunari called THE Iron Bull. His introductions to them were not stellar.

“You had to drag another minger in,” Sera said to Kai. It was apparently her only thought about Samson, because after that she ignored him.

“Hey, if he respects me, I’ll respect him,” Bull said, and he waved, “How you going?” 

After a roll of his eyes, Samson gave a weak smile and shrugged. “Good day to you, Iron Bull.” 

“See? What did I tell you?”

~~

Second-tier around Kai and Dorian went to some bearded soldier-type whose name was either Blackwall or Rainier, the group of mercenaries the Qunari led, and a red-headed dwarf with no beard named Varric. That dwarf was one of the only decent lads in the Inquisition. There were others, a spirit kid, Cole, who Samson kept mistaking for a hallucination and kept well away from, and a bald elf mage who was more annoying than anything. It was a relief when that member disappeared. Josephine seemed to always be too busy to spend much time in anyone’s social circle, but everyone liked her.

The tension in the War Room dropped considerably without Corypheus mucking about. They met less frequently, and the meetings were quicker and lighter in tone. Samson always accompanied Cullen to the meetings, but rarely said anything. They seemed to consider him part of the furniture.

He was fine with being furniture. He could watch Josephine with impunity. Sometimes she’d even look over at him and give him a small smile, and for a few moments he wouldn’t be furniture. Eventually, feeling too sick and needing distractions, he even started thinking he might be able to do more than watch her.

One day, when she looked over at him Samson pointed at her and made a signal to mean giving someone a slap. Then he smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Josephine met his gaze and definitely saw what he had done, but seemed too busy to respond or indicate her thoughts. Maybe she didn't get it. She was just so cute, though! He wanted to steal her cuteness all for himself. He wouldn't even touch her. That seemed morally vapid. He could just taunt her until she begged for attention of some description and…

Samson didn't have to slouch to hide how turned on he was. The withdrawals were still affecting him enough that nothing worked down there anyway.

When Josephine looked over at him again, Samson wet his index finger in his mouth, stroked one of the links on a chain with it before shoving it slowly in and out the link.

Josephine turned dark, looked incredibly flustered and turned away instantly.

“Goodness. Commander, I think your guest, General Samson, may need some time by himself.”

 _No, not by myself_! Samson thought, despairingly.

“Why? What did he do?” Cullen asked.

Josephine gave an embarrassed smile. “I would rather not say. I do suggest he spends some time away from the room until he is prepared to focus.”

“I am sorry if I offended you, Lady Josephine,” Samson said, most sincerely, “I can stop what I was doing if I knew what it was that upset you.”

“I suspect Samson knows exactly what he did wrong,” Cullen said to Josephine, then to him, “Are you going to stop?”

“If Lady Josephine wants me to,” Samson said.

Josephine looked embarrassed. “I…I do think leaving the room would be best for now.”

“Preferably forever,” Cullen agreed.

“But I only wanted to offer to spank her,” Samson protested, as if he had been scolded for baking cake. To him, compared to everything else he had done, a light spanking was an innocuous desire.

Josephine covered her face with her hands. “Oh my.” She half smiled, as if amused. “That is quite a request.”

Leliana looked like she was laughing, very silently laughing.

“You’re not saying you accept it?” Cullen demanded.

“No. I have no wish to do so,” Josephine said. She looked at him. “It was most unexpected for Samson to be so specific, but the answer is no. Please leave such questions for outside meetings.”

“That means never ask them, in case you were wondering,” Cullen whispered, angrily, in Samson's ear.

Samson wasn't really listening. He was too enraptured by her. “Okay, Lady Josephine.”

How very little he wanted to seduce Josephine, yet they didn’t understand that. Overactive imagination aside, for months all he wanted to do was innocent deeds. Bring her coffee, bring her parchment, replace the ink for her portable writing tablet. He had done those things when he was allowed. It felt wrong to think about having sex with her, like the very thought would taint her, a drop of poison that would take her away.

He also hadn’t thought about the Inquisitor, who’d said nothing so far. Now the mage spoke. “Are we all finished here?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Cullen said firmly. “Samson will spend some time outside the chamber.”

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Shall we also have him write _I will learn how to flirt tastefully with a woman before attempting to do so again_ a few hundred times?”

Samson half smiled. “You could but it probably won’t do much.”  

“Into the hall,” Cullen growled.

Kai accompanied them outside the War Room, looking faintly amused. He waited until Cullen got Samson situated on one of the benches then asked, “You seriously have no idea what part of what you did was offensive?”

Samson smirked. “What do you think, Kai?”

“Well, I’m no expert on seducing women, but even I can tell you, finger-fucking that chain link — or anything else, for that matter — was the perfect way to ensure you’d be spending the night alone. Offering to spank her in front of her colleagues sealed your doom completely. Come on, Cullen, let’s get this bloody meeting over with while Ser Suave here enjoys his alone time.”

The mage turned and, shaking his head, walked back into the War Room. Cullen trailed after him, not even looking at Samson as he disappeared through the big wooden doors. The General sat against the stone wall on the floor and looked wistfully at Josephine’s desk. He imagined spanking her while she was leaned over it.

_=#=_

Samson watched apathetic as the chains were removed of his hands. “What is this for?”

“It is so you can walk around Skyhold without me watching you,” Cullen explained. “You are permitted to help with odd jobs in the Inquisition until the afternoon, or when you are dismissed by whomever you are working with. Otherwise you can do as you wish.”

After months of wanting this it felt surreal and anticlimactic. “Alright. I need to take my shot anyway.”

He gathered the box that contained a needle of lyrium. This would last him a month, and he had to return it to doctors to have it replaced. Like they had shown him, Samson cleaned the needle and the surface of the upper outer area of his left arm with a small cloth they had provided him and injected the blue.

He felt like crying, knowing that his life had degraded to this extent. It wasn't normal lyrium either. It was made slightly different so that the shot had a more calming effect than whatever other lyrium the others got. This was all they could do without killing him.

Feeling melancholy, Samson left the office to replace the box. He ran into Terrie on the way. She was an old mage friend from Kirkwall, and though he hadn’t seen her for nearly ten years, she was easy to recognize. The purple markings on her face were the same, although she looked a lot fitter, less skeletal (which he hadn’t noticed without this comparison), and she wore her hair longer.

“Samson. What are you doing today?”

Samson rattled the box. “Replacing this. I would like to do something fun though.”

“I’m working on travels to the Storm Coast with some other mages. I can spend time with you if you like.”

“That’s okay,” Samson said. “I want to die but who cares about that?”

“You can come play cards. Varric is in the pub.”

“Yeah, that’ll do,” Samson said.

The pub was fairly crowded, but the dwarf had already commandeered a table for the game.

“Hi there, Raleigh,” Varric said. “How’s imprisonment?”

Samson shrugged, not bothering to note that he was now less imprisoned than before. “Since when do you know Terrie?”

“We spoke briefly in the Hawke days,” Varric said. “I was one of the only people Terrie recognized here so it made sense for her to look for me. Sort of like you.”

“Right.” Samson picked up the cards. “What are we playing?”

“Wicked Grace. What else?”

“There are better games out there,” Samson said.

“But Wicked Grace is the only one I can win bets on.”

“Don’t make playing about showing off then.” 

“I like doing that with games. It makes it more fun. What do you think, Sprinkles?”

“I enjoy any game. They are wonderful to keep your mind distracted when horrible things are happening.”

“The only horrible thing that’s happening is we haven't started the game yet,” Varric said. “How do you two know each other?”

Terrie and Samson looked at each other.

“Terrie helped me start my business getting mages out of Kirkwall,” Samson said.

“Two characters coincide in a fateful turn of events,” Varric said, “I didn't know that was your style…”

“I thought it was worthwhile,” Terrie said.

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Varric said, “not like asking to spank Ruffles. That was a terrible idea.”

“Will you let that go?” Samson demanded under his breath. “It’s wasn’t that bad. If I had actually done it without asking, that would have been worse.”

Terrie had gone pink, contrary to the red he remembered her getting. “What…was this?”

“Raleigh asked a certain Ambassador if she…was interested in an act of sexual deviance.”

Terrie looked mildly intimidated. “I would be so frightened if someone asked that of me.”

“Why? It was just a question,” Samson said. ‘Not like I asked to clobber her over the head and shatter her skull.”

“Yeah but you’ve been involved with enough terrible shit to scare anybody. Even if you asked for a hug or said hello.” Varric said.

Samson crossed his arms. “See why I don't fucking bother?!”

They didn’t understand how he had felt while withdrawing. They didn’t get how easy it was to lose your inhibitions.

“I don’t know. Josephine would probably be a softie around you by now if you hadn't done that,” Varric pointed out thoughtfully.

Samson sat up a bit straighter. “You think so?”

“Yes!” Terrie blurted out, looking distraught. “You can be nice and you can be awful. When you have upset me the only reason I kept talking to you is because you say sorry, you'll do better next time and then you do better next time. Otherwise I wouldn't be here.”

Samson reflected on his times with Terrie. He had been a different person then, though she hadn’t been. If Josephine was as truly kind and understanding as Terrie was, then he might have made a mistake.

“I have developed a lot of bad habits since you left Kirkwall, Terrie. Not just about lyrium.” He paused. “That kinda depraved rubbish works on the street. You think I should apologize?”

“Yes!” Terrie said. “You should have done so ages ago,” 

“I don’t think a sincere apology will go astray,” Varric said, “Ruffles will probably be less nervous around you if you do.”

Samson thought about it and changed the subject while they played cards.

_=#=_

“Lady Josephine?”

Though the prisoner had gotten used to seeing Josephine’s office outside the War Room, it made him nervous to actually speak to her there. It was an open space where he could easily be overheard. Thankfully, the lovely lady was looking cheerful, well, as cheerful as one could look when working. 

“Good afternoon, Samson. How are you? “

“Good, thank you,” he lied. “Can I help with anything?”

“It is not required that you help me. Is there anything else you are supposed to do today?”

“I really will do anything. I don't care that it's boring if it makes your day easier.”

“Very well.” She hesitated. “I thank you for the thought but it is really not necessary.”

Her tone was brisk and she tried not to keep eye contact for too long. 

Yep, there was no mistaking it. Varric was right. The Ambassador was trying to get rid of him. He had to fix this. 

“Lady Josephine,” he began, “How long until your next meeting?”

“A number of hours. Why?”

Like he was a passing stranger she kept focused on arranging some papers by what looked like the dates they were written.

“I just wanted to say something,” he said slowly.

“Ah yes?”

Josephine met his eyes fully and hers were so stunning, glimmering slightly from the sun rays peeking through the room, that he forgot what he was going to say. The vulnerability in her frown and earnest posture fascinated him yet emptied his mind.

“Huh?”

“What about?”

“I am a shit — I mean a nasty — person. I am sorry about that.”

Josephine abandoned the notes she was writing and seemed to struggle in thinking on how to respond. “You…have been confusing at times.”

“I was inconsiderate when I offered to spank you,” he said. “I didn't care what other people thought of me anymore but you do. It is embarrassing to think about now.”

“I think…that is understandable. I do find it — er — unusual that you are only now understanding the consequences of your actions. The red lyrium is a dangerous potion. Nonetheless, I did not expect that it would influence your emotions to such an extent.”

“It wasn’t really the lyrium,” Samson said. “It was part _me_. I stopped caring about what was right or wrong, like a rotten git.”

“Yes, although already there is quite a change.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said in a rush, “It’s complicated. You will have to be content with a vague answer.”

“I will not force you to needlessly elaborate,” Josephine said.

“I wanted to say sorry.”

Still, Josephine had a startled expression on her face. “Thank you.”

“I am sorry for doing something so rude. It was thoughtless of me. Can I ask your advice on something?”

“I will see if I can help.”

“Now I am off the red and given more freedom I do not know what to do with myself.”

“You have been given tasks by the Commander. Is that sufficient?”

“No. I am an Inquisition lackey now, not Corypheus’s pawn. I know that I am capable of doing more than that. I don't know if I deserve it but I would be willing to do more.”

“I see. The Inquisitor seems to agree you are useful. Perhaps he can assist.”

“After all this rubbish with withdrawal and being watched over, my physical strength has left me. I don't know if I want to fight though, whether it’s worth training it back up again. I don't know if my mind will do a good job. My head is not what it was. Helping with strategy I could do, maybe. I really don't know.”

“Cullen may be able to help if you ask.”

“I don’t know if he trusts me enough. All the other tasks he offered to give me sounded boring.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?  Though my next meeting is not for a few hours I do need to prepare my notes.”

Samson nodded slowly. “There’s nothing else. I appreciate your time.”

=#=

Kai propped his elbows on the railing running around the edge of the battlements, looking down on Skyhold’s grounds without really seeing them. There was a chill wind blowing, but at Skyhold there was always a chill wind blowing. He didn’t really blame Dorian for complaining as much as he did. The grass below was freshly green now the morning frost had melted, and even some new plants were growing in that had not agreed with winter. 

As if the thought had summoned him, Dorian ambled up to stand beside him, adopting the same position. “Copper for your thoughts, amatus.”

Kai chuckled. “I’m not sure they’re worth that much.”

“Really? You mean that pensive look was merely an affectation to keep chatty nuisances at bay?”

“If it was having that effect, I’ll have to remember to keep doing it.” He sighed. “I was just thinking about Inquisition shite.”

“Your enthusiasm is truly inspiring,” Dorian said, smiling crookedly. “Any shite in particular?”

“Aside from a general feeling of what are we supposed to be accomplishing here? Well…Cullen finally cut Raleigh Samson off his leash.”

“Worried about what he might do?”

Kai shook his head. “No. Since he’s been off the red lyrium and subsequent withdrawal, he’s had moments of acting very nearly human. What I’m wondering is what to do with him.”

“What _can_ he do?”

“Well…he did command the Red Templars, so I’m assuming he has some skill as a tactician. Other than that? Damned if I know. He’s got an adolescent fascination with trying to press people’s buttons. Seems to lack filters when it comes to knowing what’s appropriate to say, or it could be he just doesn’t give a damn.”

Dorian raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “He’s been trotted into the war room along with Cullen since Corypheus was alive and that’s all you know of him?”

Kai shrugged. “He never talked much. Well, except for the day he made a complete arse of himself hitting on Josie. Half the time he did talk it was just little snarky remarks mostly aimed at Cullen. I’ve never had the time to really talk with the man.”

“Nor the inclination?” Dorian said with a smile.

“To be frank…no,” Kai admitted. “I have no idea what to say to him. He’s a former Templar who, in some wrongheaded assumption it would somehow be helpful to other Templars, aligned himself with Coryphy-shit. Aside from that, he’s a former lyrium addict and thinks it’s funny to say stupidly inappropriate things to people in hopes they’ll react. Not my idea of a scintillating conversation.”

“Ah. I understand his not being a priority.”

“But I may have to talk to him now. I rather vouched for him when a lot of people wanted him dead, and suggested he’s useful.”

“So you’re thinking he should be _doing_ something useful?”

Kai nodded. “Problem is, I haven’t the slightest idea what. I don’t even know what _I’m_ supposed to be doing.”

“Inquisiting, of course,” Dorian said with an easy grin.

“You’re not helping,” Kai said drily.

“Hm. If you’re not busy, perhaps I can distract you from these weighty questions.”

“I’ll take you up on that. And just in case Josie finds me something to be busy at, I vote we ward the door shut.”


	4. In Between Worlds

A new day, another day of pretending to be normal…

Being positioned in the library was like being doomed to a life of Tranquility. Like his prior time in the Gallows, Samson felt he could relate more to people who were tranquil, like Helisma, than everybody else who was considered ‘normal’ in the wretched place. The only difference was he much more skilled at faking his emotions. Still, he took a weird pride in being overly helpful, talking up books and attempting to make people laugh. It worked most of the time. 

An unexpected customer had made his way into the Skyhold Library. A mage was taking up what little space there was between shelves, dressed in black, in quality materials. Better than what Samson had to wear anyway — clothes that Cullen didn’t like as much anymore. With his lost strength over months, the material hung loosely on him and he had to always wear a belt.

Samson waited for a passer-by to look at Kai, to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination, before approaching him. 

"Good afternoon, Kai. Need help finding a book?"

Kai blinked in surprise. "You work in the library now?"

_It nearly sounds like Kai cares for some choked up reason._

"I do a bunch of jobs around Skyhold, depending on who wants help. What lured you to the library?"

"I was looking for a book," Kai answered drily.

Samson smirked. "Right. Can I help or are you gonna be stubborn?"

Kai smiled faintly. "Not being stubborn — I just doubt you can help unless you've discovered a new collection here. You'd think there'd be a lot to read here, but at least half of it's Chantry tripe."

"I know exactly what isn't Chantry tripe," Samson suggested, "but okay, you can keep looking or ask Helisma, she’s the lady who’s Tranquil. She don’t have as much research work at the moment, sadly. I had a question for you, so maybe it's better you don't find your book straight away."

"Given that I've probably at least skimmed everything in here twice, I think I can forego my search. What's your question, and please don't ask something puerile like am I behaving myself."

"Are there any jobs around the Inquisition that are more interesting?"

Kai shrugged. "I suppose that depends on what you consider interesting. So what _do_ you consider interesting?"

Samson chuckled. Sex, annoying people and watching twats suffer, was what he enjoyed most.

"I like...persuading others, I like solving difficult problems, I find it interesting to travel to different places and meet people, transporting people or things...guarding, I guess. I am very versatile."

Kai nodded, studying him thoughtfully. "Persuading, not coercing, then?"

Samson's expression blanked. "I avoid using coercion in my work as much as I can. The times I have it's as a last resort. By that point I usually let the poor sods go. Some others of Corypheus’s allies were a lot worse than me with that. They'd coerce all the time if they could, and they did worse. Not me, though."

“Really. Not the answer I expected. Of course, I should have known not to believe everything I heard about you. Anyway —Sadly, there's not much call for solving difficult problems around here lately. I don't suppose you enjoy sweet talking squabbling nobles?"

"Depends on what variety of sweet talking it is. Squabbling nobles sound a pain in the ass but some might be entertaining. I find it fun when they see you are making more sense than they are." He smiled.

Kai smiled also. “You might want to watch what you say. I could set you to wrangling the nobles here at Skyhold. I think some of them have taken to living in the walls. Mind you, perhaps you’d like it.” He gave Samson a knowing look. “Not only would you be entertained, but that would put you under Josephine’s purview.”

Samson didn't want to admit it but having more opportunities to talk to Josephine, even if it was about work, made the suggestion all the more appealing.

"I will consider it. Don't want to get overly distracted though." He stopped himself from winking, even if it seemed the best timing for it.

“Well, if you decide you’re interested, we could probably arrange a trial run,” Kai said. "As to the rest of your likes —I think Cullen would have a cat if he thought we were having you travel and meet people. So transporting and guarding...You were a Templar, weren't you?"

"Yep, was a Templar. Done guarding and that sort of thing in mercenary and the guard. Lots of different kinds of people, maybe you would have heard if you were ever in Kirkwall. Some nobles too, hah. They weren't that bad once they're on their own."

“That’s right, you were in Kirkwall. What did they have you doing as a Templar? Were you assigned to the Circle?” His tone suggested the sort of polite interest one expresses at a tea party, but his eyes were hard.

"I was trained as a Templar since I was eight years old. I did the regular Templar stuff in the Gallows, keeping watch on kiddy mages, guarding doors..." Samson said. "Kinda grew out of it once I was out. Questioned the Circles inequitable ways...really started thinking about how broken it is for mages in there. Were you part of a Circle, or were you a lucky one who went without?"

Kai frowned. “I was in the Ostwick Circle for…far too long. Got out when everything started falling apart.”

"Sorry that you were trapped in that isolating hole of a building," Samson said.

“Thanks. It was…not the best part of my life.” Kai sighed then looked at Samson with cheerful curiosity. “How does one get kicked out of the Templars, anyway?”

"I did my part to maintain a secret romantic relationship between a Templar friend of mine and a mage. I played messenger boy and transported their letters back and forth. Little did I know it was more than just letters. Anyway the Knight Commander kicked me out when she discovered it."

“That was Meredith, yes? From what I’ve heard, you’re lucky all she did was kick you out.”

"Yes, it was Meredith. I suppose she couldn’t do much worse at the time. Not like there's a Templar equivalent of being Tranquil...well, 'cept for being messed up in the head." This time Samson winked. _Whoops_ , he thought.

Happily, Kai didn’t respond to the wink, instead saying, ”This mage—would that have been Maddox?”

"That was Maddox, yeah. Had a bit of a sad life, that one."

“You believe in understatement, I see,” Kai said drily. “ ‘A bit of a sad life’? That’s rather like saying Corypheus was a bit of a twat.”

"My version of 'a bit' is not the same as other people’s, yeah," Samson said, appearing thoughtful. "I mean, I know nobody here agrees with me, but I think getting Maddox out of the Gallows was good for 'im in a lot of ways, made his life less miserable than it would have been if he stayed. He hated the Gallows when he wasn't Tranquil so I think he enjoyed the fresh air and learning new things."

Kai leaned against the wall, taking a few moments before saying slowly, “I agree with you. I talked to him at the end, you know. Even though Tranquil are supposed to have no emotions, he was fiercely loyal to you. He died rather than betray you. Therefore I have to believe you did right by him to the extent you were able.” He gave a small smile. “I suppose that’s one reason I couldn’t hate you when Cullen was telling me I should. Maddox made me wonder what parts of the story we were missing.”

"That's kind of you," Samson said, though he was too taken aback to grin. "Yeah, people don't understand Tranquil very well. Because they feel differently to us, authority thinks it’s best to shove 'em in a corner and forget about 'em. Maddox was super clever. He learned a lot quicker as a Tranquil than how he was before. I think that says something. Maybe being sad made learning tricky. People can't agree on whether Tranquil can get any emotions or their old self back. I dunno, myself. Loyalty isn't an emotion, not really, but still it's interesting. Makes me wonder why Tranquil are only given intellectual jobs for most part, if anything. Seems like they can do much more if they're treated right. I am talking a lot so just force my mouth shut with magic if you have to." He looked embarrassed.

Kai did grin. “Why? Because you’ve just proven to me there’s actually a mind behind all your usual antics? Would you rather I keep that quiet?” His expression turned serious. “You know, it’s not just authority that sticks the Tranquil into corners and tries to forget about them. Most mages tend to, because you don’t want to be reminded that could be you, particularly in the Circles. That was always a threat. Piss off the wrong Templar, get on the wrong side of someone with enough authority, and they could do that to you. Places like Kirkwall were fucking infamous for abusing that. So you may be right—there may be much more to the Tranquil than anyone thinks. You’re not going to find many mages that want to look too closely at them.”

"Antics are a lot easier for me to do than be serious about something to someone I don't know well," Samson said, carefully. "I bet it sounds like rubbish but it's true for me.”

“Doesn’t sound at all like rubbish. I don’t have your apparent fondness for pissing people off, but if you think I’m fully being myself around people I don’t know…well, I’m a better actor than I thought,” Kai said easily.

“Anyway, makes sense that mages don't like lookin' at the Tranquil either, considering what you're saying. Can you think of any other jobs I might be able to do...if there's nothing else, I can listen to some nobles bicker."

Kai gave another flash of a grin. “Well, there’s a bit more to the job than that. You’d be expected to stop them whinging and feed their delicate egos so they happily think we care deeply about them. Josie would be able to give you the particulars. And I’m sure Cullen will give me an earful about how you’re remarkably unsuited for the job, so it would be up to you to prove him wrong if you choose to do it. If not—“

He stopped in mid-sentence, a look of horror on his face.

A woman stood in the doorway to the library in full Chantry regalia. She hadn’t looked in their direction yet.

“Your pardon, librarian? Have you seen the Inquisitor? It is vital zat I speak with him.”

“Oh, fuck me. Mother fucking Giselle.” Kai looked around the library in mounting panic. “Um. Sorry, Samson, but I need to go. Now. We’ll talk more later. Let me know if you want to try that job.”

He cast a spell that somehow made him go _dim_ and unnoticeable, and fled down the stairway mere moments before she cast her gaze towards Samson.

“Excuse me? You, there — have you seen the Inquisitor?”

"Nah," Samson replied, "He'd probably be looking at a blown up reflection of himself in a large mirror. I'd look out in the courtyard."


	5. Release

The air in the War Room felt flat and dead and stuffy. Kai looked from one advisor to another and said, “So is there anything else of pressing importance?”

“Lord and Lady DuFort have just arrived from Montsimmard. They wanted to have lunch with you tomorrow,” Josephine replied.

“No.”

“They have a great deal of money and influence in Val Royeaux—“

“So do we,” Kai said shortly.  “I never signed up to be good will ambassador and I have neither the will nor the patience to put up with another set of Orlesian idiots trying to finesse me. Tell them whatever you want, but I’m not doing it. Now, if that’s all, let’s declare this meeting closed, shall we?”

The three of them murmured assent, watching in silence as he stalked out of the room.

“Should someone talk to him?” Josephine ventured.

“Who would you suggest?” Cullen asked drily. “Dorian’s in Tevinter and they’ve called an Exalted Council on us. I don’t see that talking is going to fix either of those problems.”

“People are keeping an eye on him,” Leliana said. “As long as he does nothing too foolish or destructive, we should just let him alone.”

“Does he _know_ people are keeping an eye on him?” Cullen asked.

Her eyes widened. “Certainly not.  You know he’d react badly.”

Josephine sighed. “These days he reacts badly to everything.”

_=#=_

Rather than brave the gauntlet of courtiers, hangers-on, visitors and assorted other irritants that haunted the big main chamber of Skyhold, Kai took a right at the end of the hall and descended to the basement. The little library he often liked to hide out in was there, but at the moment it would just make him think of Dorian, which would depress him. He continued on, cutting through the kitchens to the grounds of the complex. He told himself his trajectory was aimless, but it wasn’t. He made his aimless way directly to the pub and the darkest table at the back on the second floor. When he ventured outside his quarters, this had become his regular haunt.

There was a time when Sera or Bull would likely join him and Dorian, but Dorian was in Tevinter, Sera was off on some Red Jenny adventure, and Bull and his Chargers had picked up a contract and were doing something interesting down in Val Foret. There really was no one left in Skyhold he wanted to talk to. As far as that went, he was sick of Skyhold too. Among other things.

A serving girl brought him beer without his having to ask. A fortnight ago, people frequently asked if they could join him, usually because they wanted something. No one approached him anymore.

Kai sat in his dark corner thinking dark thoughts, as had become his wont since Dorian had departed for Tevinter. He drank, but never got quite as drunk as he would have liked (not for lack of trying). And his thoughts, while dark, were clear headed and made sense. He couldn’t escape the fact that quite a few people were likely to be pissed off at him very soon, and to tell the truth, he didn’t really care anymore.

_##_

Samson rested his head on the dining room table and sighed. Footsteps drew closer from near him. “Samson, are you alright?”

The former General groaned. He didn’t feel like discussing how he felt with Cullen right now.

“I suppose that's bad?” The Commander guessed, “Or do you not want to speak to me?”

“I’m TIRED,” Samson groused.

Cullen removed his hand from the table. “Right. I was under the impression that your work with the nobles and Josephine would help that. Do you hate it?”

_Privileged git,_ Samson thought. “I like it fine. That doesn't mean I can't get the life drained outta me.”

“I…Yes, I agree. I don’t know why I thought what I did. No, I do remember. The last time you were in the Gallows you never appeared to lack energy, even from guarding doors.”

Samson’s eyes narrowed, and he met Cullen’s dour gaze. “A lot has changed since then, brother. Red lyrium, withdrawal that will never truly end. My mind and body are going to be stuck in this whirlpool forever. Like being always sick. I can have the time of my life and still get exhausted. I can't do as much as I used to.”

“I…I am sorry,” Cullen said, awkward yet contritely, “I hoped that given enough time even ‘the whirlpool’ would eventually dissipate…give or take a few years. Though I sometimes get the odd withdrawal twinge, it's nothing like it was.”

Samson felt humbled by the apology. It was short, yet genuine all the same. “If it takes me ten years for the twinges to go, that’s just about what is left of my life. I am not going to hope. Then I might get a pleasant surprise on my deathbed.”

“It sounds so grim when you put it like that,” Cullen said, uncomfortable.

“It is grim, Cullen!” Samson snarled. “Not everyone is lucky with lyrium withdrawal like you are. Like others are. I doubt my morals would have been destroyed if it wasn't for how little help I got for my withdrawal.”

“Yes. That is why I have felt a personal responsibility to help other Templars with their withdrawal in the Inquisition. The world will be much kinder when people in trouble can be helped and not scorned.”

“That does give me hope, brother,” Samson said. “Not for me, but others.”

“That’s pleasant to hear,” Cullen said with a smile.

“The Inquisition is the best thing you have ever done, Cullen,” Samson said.

 “It wasn’t just me who founded it, but thank you,” Cullen replied. “Truth be told I never thought I would hear you say that.”

“It’s the best thing you have done, not what is best for the world,” Samson corrected.

Cullen laughed. “I understand that you still have reservations. After seeing how many Templars wish to withdraw from lyrium I was considering creating my own refuge where they may do so. I wanted to invite you to help me, to live there if you like. I think you have a knack of speaking to Templars if you have supervision over them.”

“Thank you, Cullen,” Samson said. “I don’t know what I will be doing although the offer is appreciated. I will keep it in mind.”

_=#=_

Feeling like he had a slightly better idea of what life might be like outside of Skyhold, Samson went for a walk through the gardens around the fortress. He hoped he would come across someone more amicable to converse with, but he didn’t. Terrie wasn’t there. Varric was travelling somewhere because of a book. He found Leliana traversing a stretch of grass in the direction of the library. Or… Leliana spotted him and moved closer.

“Won’t you ever smile around me?” she asked with a mocking tone.

She must have been traveling somewhere outside Skyhold or be about to finish work because she was in a pink dress with an ivory cloak, instead of her usual chainmail and violet. It made her look chaste, which Samson suspected was bullshit. But he wasn’t fool enough to tell her so.

“C’mon, I haven’t told you to smile for ages,” Samson defended himself.

“Really,” Leliana said, slowing to a halt. “You may be better behaved although you do not seem happier for it.”

Samson stopped too and half smiled. “Not much I can do if what amuses me pisses everyone off.”

The sunset and the autumn leaves surprisingly matched with the Spymaster’s hair as they drifted past in a light breeze. She stepped nearer.

“You can’t have always been like this,” Leliana said, “Surely there are details to enjoy in Skyhold now.”

“I do enjoy chatting with my friends,” Samson admitted, “and Kai’s work ain’t bad.”

Leliana gave a small smile. “Friends? Am I one of them?”

“If you want,” Samson admitted. Just that he had said ‘friends’, he supposed Skyhold was a more enjoyable place than when he first arrived. Still, other aspects of his past longed to be reconciled.

“What of Josie?” Leliana asked, “Is she your friend now?”

“Err, hard to tell if she’s just being professional,” Samson said, “but she isn’t nervous around me anymore. A friendship is all I will ever be.”

“That is for the best,” Leliana said, “especially since Josie’s parents are trying to get her married.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“Perhaps you are friends then,” Leliana remarked. “If not, she trusts you to want to be your friend.”

“I am grateful she speaks to me at all,” Samson said. He didn’t want to feed Leliana’s hunger for gossip anymore. Before she could say something else he walked away. “I gotta go.”

_##_

Samson had been loitering on the grounds, wondering what to do, when he saw the Inquisitor skulk out from the kitchen and make a beeline for the pub. Though he rarely drank, this got his curiosity piqued enough that he decided to follow. It wasn’t like he had anything interesting lined up to do anyway.

He entered and approached Cabot, the bartender.

“What can I get ya?”

Samson ordered his usual, a non-alcoholic beverage. “Have my eyes failed me, or did I see the Inquisitor come in here?”

“Aye,” Cabot said. “But if I was you, I’d not bother him. He’s in a mood. Not that he ever isn’t these days.”

“Is that right?” Samson was intrigued. “Why’d you think that?”

“‘Cause he sits up in the back corner of the second floor pounding beer and glaring death at anyone who tries to go near him.”

“What’s the Inquisitor sulking for, anyhow?”

“Probably because his Vint’s gone back home, but who knows? It’s not like he talks to anyone. Just glad he keeps it on the second floor. That sort of thing’s bad for business if it’s the first thing your customers see.”

“An upset customer ain’t good for anyone’s business.”

He turned away from the bar, carrying his drink up to the second floor. There was finally something interesting to do.

Samson tried to catch Kai’s eye first but the Inquisitor appeared preoccupied. Not that this mattered. The General approached his table and said, "Not feeling well, Kai?"

Kai looked flatly at the former templar and, when he didn't leave, said, "No. Just antisocial."

"Does beer count as being a person? I thought you might appreciate its company." Samson placed the glass down on the table. "They’re good at keeping shut up, at least."

Kai gave a snort of almost-laughter. "I've always appreciated that about them." He sighed, appearing to come to a decision. "All right. Bribe accepted. If you really want to, have a seat. But don't expect me to be good company." He took a drink. "Oh, and if you were going to ask for something, the answer's no."

"If you so insist, Kai," Samson said, half mocking the way the annoying nobles would speak. He sat down. "I doubt anyone can be much worse company than myself. If you don’t want to socialize, why hide here, where nosy sods like me can find you?"

Kai gave a sardonic half smile. "Because drinking alone is supposed to be unhealthy. And my quarters start feeling like a particularly nicely decorated mausoleum after a while. So on occasion I try a change of venue. Usually just glaring gets most people to leave me alone. But not you."

"Drinking's drinking. Don't mean anything if you're 'round others or not. You could punch me if you wanted to drink so desperately and I was tryna stop you," Samson said, taking a sip of his very non-alcoholic beverage. "I don't recall you finding others so intolerable before."

"I was being facetious about the drinking alone," the mage said. "But not the mausoleum part. Mind you, all of Skyhold rather feels like that." He paused to take another drink, turning that thought over in his mind before continuing, "But I wasn't worried about anyone trying to stop me drinking. I just have no desire to play Inquisitor, and that's all anyone wants of me." He shrugged. "I've had my fill of it. Not like I volunteered for the job in the first place."

Samson gave a brief smile before gazing non-specifically at somewhere in the distance for a moment. "If you didn't want to lead this riot in the first place you must have had an amazing reason to put up with the rubbish until now?"

Kai scowled and held up his left hand. The mark glowed green even when it was quiescent. "Yeah. This."

Samson squinted at it, confused. "It's... green?"

"Yes. It's fucking green. And it glows. And it closes fade rifts — damned if I know how — and the only good things it's done are boost my power and remove any need for lyrium. Otherwise it's a bloody pain and I can't bloody get rid of it, and it may only be my imagination, but it seems to be getting worse." He punctuated his statement by draining his beer and taking Samson's offering.

Samson paused. He looked in pain, though perhaps he was just thinking. "I don't know, Kai. If I had that mark and I didn't want it badly enough, I'd cut the damned arm off."

"Let me guess — you're right handed," Kai said drily. "I'd much rather find the bloody mage who made the thing responsible for it in the first place and get him to remove it if he can."

"Better than wasting years of my life when I could be doing something better."

Kai drank then said, "The first bit was all right. Corypheus needed to be removed. The Inquisition had a purpose then, and I met—well, that part wasn't a waste. But now..."

Samson suddenly slapped his arm as if trying to squash a mosquito, but there was nothing there. "Sorry. I am the lad who thinks it’s fun to approach people when they are angry. Is there another way they can close rifts? They'd find a solution without you, I bet. The Inquisition has members who are too determined and intelligent. Means they'll find a way, even if it's mental or rotten. And I reckon you have an answer to what to do as well. It just might cause a stir."

Kai shook his head. "There might be. I'm sure there is, but nothing as quick and effective. It's a moot point anyway— they're closed. They have been for the better part of a year now. Just the fucking mark is left. Rather like the Inquisition, it's just lingering without purpose."

"In all that, I didn't hear anything about why the Inquisition is still a good idea," Samson said.

Kai barked a laugh. "Well, that the thing—I don't know that it _is_ still a good idea. I believe I've come to the conclusion it isn't." He raised his glass in a mock toast. "And you're the first one to hear that."

"You shared something with me that Dorian doesn't know, you mean?"

“Oh, he knew I’d been thinking along those lines, but it took him leaving for it all to come into focus.”

"How interesting. What do you think your Inquisition followers would say?"

Kai studied his beer for a few moments. “I’m not sure. Venhedis, most of them aren’t even here anymore. Cass’ll be pissed even though she’s off Divining now. There are others who seem to like the idea of the Inquisition being here, maker knows what they expect us to do. Being an amorphous force for good isn’t much of a mandate.”

"You make a few people pissed off? Tell them to piss off, then."

Kai smiled tiredly. “That’s what I’ve taken to doing the last fortnight. I may do more than that. Or just piss off myself. But I’m probably boring you now.”

Samson looked drained of all emotion and simply shook his head.

Kai drank and said, "So tell me — why are _you_ still here? We're not exactly holding you prisoner anymore."

"It's pathetic but I don't have anywhere else to go. If I am going to come across any old friends, it will probably be through the Inquisition."

“ _Have_ you run across any? Aside from Cullen, of course.” He seemed genuinely curious.

"I've run into a fair share I met when I was in Kirkwall. As for whether they want to see me, that's another story," Samson said. "As for Red Templars, no. They probably know where I am but don't want to risk outing themselves. Some nutter is probably trying to continue Corypheus's cause. Pointless unless you're a powerful enough mage to match that ugly walking ribcage."

Kai snort-laughed. “An apt description.” He signalled for another drink and, stifling a burp, eyed Samson. “So tell me – I know you’re an ex-Templar and ex-lyrium addict, courtesy of the Templars, and you were doing some sort of mercenary work, but not much else. And what in the Void possessed you to think Corypheus was going to do you or your people any good? Was he really the best you could come up with?”

Samson scowled. "There's more than one way in Thedas to achieve the same ends, isn't there?"

“Sure.” He nodded his thanks to the barmaid as she set his drink on the table. “But what end did you imagine you were gonna get with that demented bastard?  I saw what would’ve happened if he won. You wouldn’t’ve liked it.”

"If you saw what I saw, then that wouldn't have swayed me," Samson said blankly. "I can't speak for others who followed Corypheus, but those who followed me didn't think other means would have worked. Most had tried more 'reasonable' means and failed. Time and again, these resilient people had their spirits eroded. Madness would be keep knocking on those same doors. If you can't get that idea, then that's that. You'll never get it."

Kai squinted at him. "What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Coryphy-shit would win and it'd all be beer and skittles for you and your Red Templars? All the evil shite you were already putting up with would just go away?"

"Sounds like you already knew what was going to happen, Kai," Samson said shortly. "Your comments are not new. You're not being special by asking these questions or are going to inspire some unseen Maker's insight in me. I am finished talking to you about this for now. Unless you have more unique questions, I would prefer to watch grass grow."

Kai snorted. "Go fuck yourself, Samson. I wasn't trying to be bloody special or inspire you to insight. I was just gobsmacked you'd believed the old wanker and trying to figure out how you could be that fucking blind. _You_ approached _me_ , remember? So pound your sanctimonious shite." He drank more and glared at nothing in particular.

Samson gave a crude grin. "Thanks for your blessing, Kai...or should I say Inquisitor...I will gladly go fuck myself." He looked like he wanted to say something else, though got up from the table, picked up Kai's empty glass and carried it away.

Kai looked at the retreating figure of the former general with a sort of bemused annoyance, shrugged and returned to the serious business of trying to get drunk enough to go back to his vast, empty quarters and pass out for the rest of the night.

_=#=_

Samson went to his quarters and lay there staring at the ceiling. After three years, he had little patience for anything that could be interpreted as slightly judgemental. He must be losing it. Before he adapted to the Inquisition, he did not care about anyone’s opinions. He was simply _right_ , and everyone else was wrong. Now…

He ripped out a sheet of parchment from the notebook that Cullen had gotten him, found a metal tipped pen and started to draw. With sweeping lines and plenty of ink smudges, thick vines covered with jagged thorns of red lyrium, circled around a tree like a giant snake and snapped off its branches. The tree was half dead. Nearly all its leaves had burned to a crisp.

On a new ripped out sheet of parchment, he wrote: 

Dear Kai,  
I apologize if I offended you earlier. I’m not sure what exactly it was that did it, but I’ll forget about it and forgive. My memory isn’t good enough anymore to hold grudges.  
I thought you might like this drawing. It’s about red lyrium, and all those who take it.  
As you might know, the red destroys lives and steals peoples’ choices away, a force that no one can stop once it has leeched into you. Soon enough, there’s nothing left, no choices to spare, no life to lead.  
I have destroyed enough lives by convincing people that their pain would have meaning and purpose. It’s been three years so I hope they’ve found a new way for their pain to mean something. Pain should have meaning, don’t you think? Otherwise what’s the point?  
I send you as many well wishes as I do to my brother and sister Templars. After all, if a clever lad in a position of influence such as yourself can’t do what you think is right, then what kind of leader are you, really?  
Have a pleasant evening with your drinks  
Sincerely,  
Samson

He cross hatched shading onto the tree bark, thorns and red lyrium before grouping the papers together and folding them in half. Something about staying in the Inquisition didn’t seem right. Yet, he couldn’t have a ‘normal’ life like those he knew who had already departed. Perhaps he could ask for more ideas. On the way to Cullen’s office, Samson stopped past Kai’s quarters and slipped the folded papers under the door. They got slightly stuck, though the Red Templar General shrugged and left.

_=#=_

Kai studied the drawing that had been stuffed under the door to his quarters then read the letter again, frowning slightly. He didn’t recall being offended by anything the former Templar said. The man had gotten snippy and condescending because he’d been asked what thinking process led him to believe Corypheus, much less side with him, and given the mood he was in, Kai had told him to go fuck himself. That had apparently offended Samson, who’d walked off. That was all.

_“…if a clever lad in a position of influence such as yourself can’t do what you think is right, then what kind of leader are you, really?”_

An insult or a legitimate question?  Samson was hard to read.

_You could ask him_ , he thought. He doubted Samson had left Skyhold over being told to go fuck himself, but you never knew.

_What kind of leader are you, really?_ “One who no longer wants to lead,” Kai said to himself. He wondered where Samson’s quarters were. Surely he wasn’t still staying in Cullen’s?

Well, first things first. He needed to go in search of coffee. Then maybe find Samson and find out what was going through that splintered mind of his. If Dorian had been there, he probably would have shrugged and gotten on with his day (not that he would have been drinking in the pub in a foul mood in the first place), but Dorian wasn’t there and there was nothing Inquisitorial he wanted to do. Samson would be a welcome distraction.

“Inquisitor?”

Kai tensed. _It’s my own bloody fault for not going out the back door._ Josephine was bearing down on him, clipboard in hand. “Yes, Josephine?”

“If you have some time, we really need to speak about the Exalted Council.”

“Why?”

She gaped at him. “ _Why?_ Perhaps you do not understand the gravity of the situation.”

“I understand it just fine,” he said flatly. “We go there as they’ve demanded, they complain and question and try to make decrees. We answer and attempt to be diplomatic even though they’re probably going to be twats about everything and do a shiteload of political grandstanding on top of it. At the end there’s likely some compromise reached that no one’s entirely happy with, and we all go home until same time, next year.”

She stared at him. “That is—“

“Correct,” he finished. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get my first coffee of the day. I’d prefer no one bother me.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she said faintly.

He paused. “By the by, do you know where Raleigh Samson’s quarters are?”

She told him. He thanked her and returned to the pub (which did serve a superior cup of coffee), where he drank coffee and pretended to read a book while he thought about other things. Even though he was fairly sure he’d made up his mind, he would have liked to talk to Dorian. If not Dorian, Sera would have done to at least bounce a few ideas off, but she wasn’t present either.

No one was. It had made him realize he really didn’t like Skyhold. There was a pervasive, underlying emptiness to the place, as if it was waiting for its current residents to leave so it could return to its solitary splendour. It was a pretty enough place, but cold, and not just in the sense of the mountain temperatures.

The more he thought, the more he wanted to leave.

He had his second cup of coffee with a cinnamon flavoured pastry, chased it down with a third then decided he may as well do something. Since he was still puzzling about Samson’s letter in the back of his mind, he figured that was as good a project as any. It had to be better than listening to his advisors fret about the Exalted bloody Council.

He approached Samson’s quarters.  The door was slightly ajar, hanging open a few inches, so Kai chanced a look inside. Samson was lying on his bed, fully clothed but for his shoes. He was snoring softly. The room had a lived-in look, with a few items scattered about and, for some reason, a pile of clothes on top of his desk. _Laundry, perhaps?_

He knocked on the door frame and Samson woke immediately, groaning. “Who woke me?”

Languidly, he sat up and squinted.

“Just wondering if you have a moment. This —” he brandished the letter briefly, “— left me with questions. I can come back later if you like.”

"What questions do you have about it?" Samson asked.

"Can I come in or would you rather I prop myself in your doorway?"

"You can stand wherever you like," Samson said, "Or sit. I only assume no one wants to go near me."

"Well, I'm hardly asking to sit in your lap," Kai deadpanned. He pulled out the desk chair and sat. "So I'm not sure what to think of this. Should I feel pleased or insulted? If I pissed you off, it wasn't intentional."

Samson laughed at the notion of Kai sitting in his lap. "I wasn't pissed off at you, Kai. That's my way of apologizing if I angered you."

“I wasn’t angry at you. Annoyed, perhaps.” Kai gave a sardonic smile. “If I’m to be honest, it takes very little to annoy me these days. But whether you meant to or not, you’ve made me think, so I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Samson appeared confused, as if he hadn't understood what was said. "What exactly about it made you think? Usually people _think_ I'm rotten and that's it."

Kai studied the other man for a few moments. “Before I answer that, can I ask you something?”

Samson leaned forward in interest. "Sure."

“Do _you_ think you’re rotten? When you were a general, did your people think you were rotten? You must have had _something_ to you that made them want to give you their loyalty. Maddox certainly seemed to think you had some redeeming qualities.”

Samson looked down at the floor and shrugged. "I think I am far more rotten now than I was before all this Corypheus rubbish."

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Rather a non-answer, don’t you think? So you’re more rotten than however rotten you may have been before. Irredeemably so?"

"Say I spend the rest of my days redeeming myself for the cruelty I knowingly inflicted on others. I think I will be redeemed in the eyes of the people I hurt once I die, if ever. The ones I crushed don't have to forgive. It is their decision. They don't owe forgiveness to me. But one day I hope I can forgive myself enough that I don't think about poisoning myself every other day."

Kai gave him a sardonic smile. "As someone who's been doing precisely that every day lately, I can tell you it only works to a point. But I suppose given your choice of poison you'd know that better than I. Does this mean you're willing to admit even you may have some redeeming qualities? Because I've got to tell you, there have been times recently where you've been observed acting like a rather decent and intelligent human being despite all your efforts to appear otherwise."

"Redeeming qualities, eh?" Samson looked to the ceiling. "I had a lover tell me I was twisted but clever. An amusing bastard. A good listener...when I bothered." He avoided Kai's eye. "She...is no longer around."

Kai heard the heaviness in Samson’s last words, made a deliberate choice to let them lie. “That sounds fairly accurate, don’t you think? It’s just a question of whether you want to bother.” _A question he’d been asking himself a lot lately._

"I do want to bother. To do more than be a listening ear."

The mage nodded slowly, appearing vaguely pleased. “So you do give a damn about something. Any idea how you’ll go about that? I can’t see that remaining here at Skyhold is going to accomplish much.”

"I'll never find them here," Samson agreed. He pointed to the pile of clothes on the desk. "I'm going to leave Skyhold. I need to check with Cullen I can. I assume it will be fine, though."

Kai shrugged. “If Cullen says no, send him to me. I’ve no problem with your leaving, and frankly, I outrank him. So tell me—” He skimmed Samson’s letter quickly. “—what did _you_ mean here? This is the bit that got me thinking: _…if a clever lad in a position of influence such as yourself can’t do what you think is right, then what kind of leader are you, really?_ ”

“It was a rhetorical question," Samson said. "To me, leaders are meant to inspire others to follow what they believe in. I don't know if you share the same idea about it, but it was something I was thinking about."

“It was a _good_ question.” Kai studied the letter without really looking at it. “And you’re right. A leader should inspire, and believe in whatever his cause is. I used to, when Corypheus needed to be stopped.” He looked up at the former general. "I don’t believe any more because this Inquisition no longer serves any purpose other than perpetuating itself. So that makes me rather a shite leader, doesn’t it?”

Samson looked like he was thinking about it. "It doesn't make you a shite leader, necessarily. Maybe you're just supposed to lead something else now."

Kai grinned. “Like my own life? I haven’t really gotten to do that yet.”

Samson chuckled. “If you haven't done that yet, I would. You've already lost enough time to the mage prison.”

“Sound advice, General.” Kai looked at him curiously. “A bit unusual to hear that sentiment coming from a Templar; even a former one.”

“I'm not the usual type of templar,” Samson said with a nonchalant wave of the hand.

Kai chuckled. “Obviously. Cullen didn’t think much of you, but he had a pretty dim view of mages as well. One of the reasons I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you,” Samson said with a grin. “Where will you go next?”

“I don’t know yet,” Kai said with a sigh. “First I have to talk with Dorian. Then I have to decide how to go about extricating myself from the Inquisition. Not to mention there’s the Exalted bloody Council to deal with. Like usual, it’s going to be complicated, but I’m not staying. I’ll end up a fucking alcoholic if I do. What about you? Any idea what you’ll do out from under Cullen’s benevolent oversight?”

"There is one of my old allies I reckon I could find. Then, I think I'll have a clue where the others could have gone. As to where she is, it won't do me any favours to say."

Kai gave him a half smile. "You mean you don't know or you won't tell me? Not that it matters."

"A bit of both," Samson admitted.

“Fair enough. For all I know, I’ll eventually end up in Tevinter. Then we’ll see who’s less popular with the good people we’re leaving behind at Skyhold.”

“That'll be interesting,' Samson said. “Well, I better get packing then if I'm going to get out of here before you.”

“Yes, you’d better. I’ve got to go anyway. Most important to listen to my advisors carry on about the Council. Then I’ll probably eat and get drunk again.” He stood and said, “Well, thank you for clarifying that. If I don’t see you again, good luck to you, Samson.”

Kai walked to the door and paused. “And if I do see you again, I promise not to tell you to go fuck yourself. Unless you deserve it.”

“It's not like your insults affect me anyway,' Samson said. He raised a hand to give a small wave. “Good luck with whatever you decide to do. You made the Inquisition interesting. I appreciate that you didn't execute me.”

Kai gave a short laugh. “Didn’t you know? It’s a thing with me — I don’t execute. I recruit miscreants, undesirables and fringe dwellers. It’s the secret to my success.” He lifted his hand in an answering wave and exited.

Samson looked at the pile of clothes on the desk, threw a shoe at the door so it closed, and lay down back to sleep.


End file.
